It's A Secret

Confusing, I know. Bet you can't figure out what I'm writing about (take a guess in the comment section).

I hold within my hand The most provocative of spirits And the best of the worst Of the rest of the world Where a single flare Can mean desolation And a million years Can only make so much to burn for a moment.

An edge rears its head. I shove it back in, Hoping nobody has seen my clumsiness. People would kill for the mystique.

I know not how many hours it shall carry me, nor when I will be let down.

I can only hope that at the end of the day I have been spared the horrors of its deepest pockets.

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